Where The Pieces Fall
by Aragarna
Summary: Post 4x16 - The one in which Peter doesn't go to prison. Gen.
1. The Secret to Longevity

**Author's Note** : Many Many thanks to **Last1stnding** for the beta work !

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**Where the Pieces Fall**

**Part One: The Secret to Longevity.**

"James Bennett is nowhere to be found," Callaway announced as she entered the interrogation room.

Peter's heart sank. Up until now, he had hold to the hope that James would testify for him. If not really _for_ him, for Neal at least. But it seemed James thought better. It didn't make much sense, though. If James was gone, did that mean he had abandoned his son? The thought that Neal had run with his father crossed his mind a fraction of second, but Peter discarded it. Neal wouldn't do that, especially with his partner in such a precarious situation. This he was sure of. But James did and now, Peter's future looked gloomier by the minute. With no witness and no forensic evidence to back him up, Peter's story, no matter true, had little chance to stand. It was nothing more than a story, while the prosecution had solid evidence: No other finger prints than his on the murder weapon, and gunshot residue on his hand.

A shiver ran down his spine. Peter had participated in enough trials. He knew how bad it would look to any jury. He wasn't even sure he would have believed himself if he was on the other side of the table.

Callaway took her time to sit opposite to him, on _his_ chair, in _his_ interrogation room. Peter braced himself up for another round of questions. The masquerade of interrogation, Peter had played it so many times himself, he was no fool. It was all about confidence, the confidence that you're the one holding the truth. This was a game he wouldn't let Callaway win.

Peter straightened his position on the chair, sitting tall. His hands were resting flat on the table. He would not give her the satisfaction to watch him break down here. Clenching his jaw, Peter put on his best poker face to show a confidence he wanted to believe but didn't feel.

Callaway looked at him right in the eyes. "Caffrey said his father ran."

He held her gaze. "That's what guilty people tend to do."

"Unless they're caught in time."

"I did not kill Senator Pratt."

"Then, why were you holding the murder weapon?" Callaway asked with an unpleasant smirk.

"I told you. Bennett was holding me at gun point with Senator Pratt's gun that he had grabbed from the floor. I took the first weapon I saw - which was my service gun, that was under your responsibility, and that you left unattended."

Agent Callaway's eyes darted him arrows, and she pinched her lips.

"And what were you doing on the 50th floor, while you were instructed to follow Agent Wilson outside the building."

Peter swallowed the anxiety obstructing his throat. A lot of things were going to be difficult to explain, to say the least. He would have to choose his words very carefully. His only weapon now was his credibility and his own shenanigans today had already undermined it.

"I was looking for you. I know we had no right to play you like this, but our priority was to protect the evidence box. We had to find it before Senator Pratt… And James Bennett. We had to make sure it was safe."

"So where is it now?"

Peter hesitated for a second. He still didn't know which side Callaway was on. But if she was as corrupted as Pratt, he was screwed, no matter what. She was too young to be "in the box" though, and with her Senator friend dead, it was in her best interest to get out of this as clean as she could. So Peter opted for the truth, hoping he wasn't making a big mistake.

"Neal has it." At least, Peter hoped. That was the plan. But things didn't go exactly according to plans today.

"And how can we be sure he didn't destroy it?"

Peter shrugged. "Neal has no reason to destroy whatever is in that box."

"Wouldn't he try to protect his father?"

Peter bent forward. "Neal was only looking for the truth, good or bad. It is not in his interest to destroy any of it."

"Do you trust him?"

"In almost 3 years of work with the Bureau, Neal hasn't shown any reason not to." A small smile brushed Peter's lips. It sounded so much like a Caffrey answer – or non answer. Peter had become pretty good at that game. But he didn't need to play it now. "Yes, I trust him," he stated more clearly.

Callaway's retort was cut off by a knock on the door. Without waiting to be invited in, Diana opened the door.

"Agent Callaway, you need to come and see this."

Callaway was visibly annoyed to be interrupted. "Can't it wait?"

"No, it can't. This is about the case."

Standing up, Callaway sent Peter an unreadable side look and followed Diana outside. Peter caught his young agent's eyes. He read what she couldn't express out loud: trust, determination, concern. Peter gave her a reassuring smile and she smiled back at him before closing the door.

Once again, Peter was left on his own in the interrogation room, and once again, his mind wandered. Between all the thoughts assaulting him, one kept coming back: He was going to miss his sushi night with El and _that_ he felt guilty about. Terribly guilty. After all she'd been through, Elizabeth didn't deserve this, on top of it all. And what if he was charged for Pratt's murder? What if he had to spend the next 20 years in prison? He would certainly miss more than one date night with El.

Peter cupped his face in his hands. He didn't want to think about this. It couldn't happen. It will not happen. He was innocent, and he would be cleared. He had to trust that the System worked, because the consequences would otherwise be overwhelming. Not just for himself, but also for the hundreds of men and women he caught and who were sent to prison. If the System failed him, how many others could have it failed too?

Peter shook himself. He nervously passed his hand through his hair and took a couple of deep breaths to force himself to calm down. This will not happen. His team will get him out of here. He had to keep faith. Whoever was in the box will be taken down. Someone had to go down, because Peter didn't want to believe that all that happened, everything they went through, was for nothing. Pratt was dead, and Peter didn't have the satisfaction of cuffing him. Instead, he had been the one walking out on cuffs.

Peter absentmindedly looked at his wrists. He tried to wipe away the phantom sensation of the cold metal on his skin.

He loosened his tie a little – just a little. He felt hungry.

Peter forced himself to stop thinking about prison, but it only succeeded to replace his underlying fear with the unsettling feeling of treason. _James Bennett is nowhere to be found._ James had run. Why would he do that? The only explanation Peter could think of was that James had lied to them. He wasn't innocent. Ellen's evidence box wouldn't clear him, it would charge him. James was only looking for it to destroy it. So as soon as he got hands on the box, he disappeared into the wind once again. He had been playing them all along. He had been playing _Neal_ all along.

What if they didn't recover the box and all had been for nothing?

Peter glanced at the one-way mirror, as if looking for his friend's presence, even though he couldn't see him and didn't even know where he was.

Peter could only guess what state of mind Neal could be in at the moment. The young man had been looking for the truth for so long and, despite himself, had placed so much hope in a possible reconnection with his long lost father. James had played his part so damn well. Using Neal's vulnerability to reach him, use him, and in the end, toss him away. What a waste. The more he thought about it, the angrier Peter felt. If he ever made it out of there, he would go after James Bennett. He would find him, that was a promise. And he would punch him in the face.

* * *

After what seemed an eternity, Agent Watson came in, a blank expression on her face.

"Agent Burke, please write your statement." She put a sheet of paper and a pen on the table in front of Peter and left without adding a word.

Peter looked at the blank paper in front of him, his thoughts spinning in his head. Then, firmly, he took the pen, and wrote. When he was done, he pushed the paper away and crossed his arms.

He was waiting, waiting for his life to go to hell, his world to collapse. Images of Kate visiting Neal in prison once a week assaulted him. His own words came back. _Real love is fighting like hell to hold on to every moment you have with her. It's making a life together, and making it work no matter what happens_. No matter what happens. But he never meant this to happen to El.

Peter swallowed the ball in his throat. He closed his eyes.

The door opening made him startle. It was Callaway. She entered and took her time to sit in front of him.

"You seem to have unexpected friends, Agent Burke."

Peter frowned. What could she mean?

Callaway continued. "A flash drive was dropped at the office. It contained surveillance footages from a camera installed on the 50th floor and filming the room where the box was. There is no audio, and the angle of the camera is rather odd. But it did film the entire scene between you, Senator Pratt and James Bennett. Our experts analyzed it, there is no sign of tampering. Though the provenance of the video remains unclear, it seems to be authentic."

For a moment, Peter remained still. Slowly, the meaning sank in, and relief washed all over him.

"This camera isn't from the Empire State Building surveillance. That room was under renovation and wasn't rented. Any idea who could have an interest in watching the room?"

It did sound like someone he knew, but Peter shook his head. "No, no idea, sorry." He shrugged, doing his best to keep his expression neutral. "Someone else from Pratt's circle might have heard we were closing in on the box and wanted to keep an eye on whoever would find it first? We should probably start with those who are 'in the box'."

Callaway didn't seem convinced. "Maybe. In any case, this clears you from Pratt's murder."

She stood and opened the door. "You're free to go, Agent Burke," she said as she stepped aside. "I'll ask you to remain available for further questioning. You still have a lot of to answer to regarding your behavior today."

Peter's head felt light as he stood and he took a moment to regain his composure before passing in front of Agent Callaway and step outside the conference room.

As he walked down the corridor to the bullpen, Peter felt numbed. The after-effect of the adrenaline spike was crashing on him. He had not realized how tensed he had been for the last hours. And now he was left totally exhausted.

He looked by a window. It was pitch dark outside. Definitely too late for his date with El. Peter sighed. He should stop making El promises he couldn't keep.

Peter felt like he was suffocating. He needed some fresh air. About to enter the bullpen, he suddenly turned around and slipped into the elevators, unnoticed. His hand was shaking when he hit the "ground floor" button, and the doors were barely closed when the tears ran down his back against the wall opposite the door, Peter rested his head against the cold aluminum, closing his eyes. In the privacy of the small elevator, he simply let the tears flow and released the pressure. It didn't last long and by the time the elevator reached the ground floor, he was feeling much better. He brushed the tears away and felt more like himself again. There was still a little uneasiness weighting in his chest, but he felt he was going back into his own shoes. He readjusted his tie before stepping out of the elevator.

As he walked out of the building, he was aware of the heads turning to him, and people whispering. News travel fast…

"Hey, Agent Burke, glad to see you walking free!" That was Ochoa, one of the security agents keeping the doors.

Peter smiled. "Yeah, me too, believe me."

Pushing the door, Peter stepped on the pavement, and took a deep breath of fresh air. Barely the cleaner air on the planet, but at the moment, the most delicious air of liberty. Standing in the cool night, hands in pockets, Peter breathed, for what seemed the first time in a long long time. He was still far from the end of the road, but now he felt a little more confident he would eventually reach it. Hopefully, that residual uneasiness will go away.

He had to admit, the recent events had shaken him up pretty hard. For sure, there was the fear of being charged for Pratt's murder. And the associated fear of being sent to prison for a long, long time. But there was something more. Something new to him. He, Special Agent Burke, who had always believed so hard in doing the right thing. _You do what's right and you let the pieces fall where they fall_. Well, things had been pretty damn close to falling really bad, taking Peter down with them. How could this have happened? How could he have been that close to lose everything while being so convinced to be doing the right thing? Had his compass shifted that much that he hadn't realized the wrong path he had engaged himself into? What should have been the right thing to do then?

Peter felt lost, and tired.

He wondered where Elizabeth was. He needed his wife, needed to see her, hold her. Mechanically, he reached for his left pocket, but his phone had been taken from him when he was first brought in. Peter was about to go back inside when he heard a familiar voice on his right.

"Special sales on pistachio gelati!"

Turning around, Peter spotted an ice-cream cart, whose owner was no other than…

"Mozzie!"

The little guy rolled his eyes at Peter's lack of discretion but his protest was muffled in the Agent's giant hug.

"Thank you, Moz'," Peter said as he patted his unconventional friend in the back.

"Suit!" Mozzie protested vehemently, and Peter released him. Mozzie seemed positively petrified. He looked around frantically before turning back to Peter.

"Never. Do that. Again," he said menacingly, an accusing finger pointed toward the Suit. Then, with a softer tone he added, "I take it they released you."

"Yes. And whatever the reason you set that camera, for once, I'm grateful of your paranoia."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Suit," Mozzie said, "But let this be your lesson for today."

It was Peter's turn to roll his eyes. "And what is that?"

"Paranoia is the secret to longevity, my friend."

Peter smirked. "Right, I'll have this engraved on my Rai stone."

Mozzie stared at Peter, not sure if he should be offended or pleased. Finally, he simply shrugged.

Raising his wrist he talked through a mike. "Suit's clean. Laundry's aborted. I repeat, laundry's cancelled."

"What the –" Peter gasped.

He scanned the area, looking for any possible suspicious guy. Not seeing anyone, he turned back to Mozzie, but the little guy was gone. Even more impressively, there was no sign of the ice-cream cart either.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Peter headed back inside the FBI building.

* * *

As he entered the bullpen, Peter was surprised to see how busy it still was at this time of day. Out of habit, he looked over Neal's desk. His friend wasn't there. Nor were Jones or Diana. Looking up, he caught sight of them in the conference room, with Elizabeth.

He walked through the bullpen. A couple of agents turned around and gave him a smile, or a nod. He vaguely nodded in return. He was looking at his team, friends, family, up there in the conference room. Diana and Jones were standing close to the flat screen. El and Neal, side by side were sat at the far end of the table. They were all looking at the screen. All but Neal, who seemed fascinated by his own hands.

El turned her head. She saw him, and a smile illuminated her beautiful face. She stood up as he climbed the stairs to the conference room. They met at the door. She threw herself into his arms, and he buried his face into her hairs. He held her close and strong, breathing her scent, her presence.

Peter finally stepped back, keeping her hands in his. He looked at his wife. Her eyes were red. She had been crying, and her make-up had leaked. She was wearing one of his favorite dresses. She had obviously prepped herself for their date night. Peter felt a knot of guilt compressing his stomach.

"El –" he started. But she gently put a finger on his lips to cut him off and shook her head.

"Don't be," she whispered. "I'm just happy to have you back."

"What are you doing here?" Peter asked as he delicately caressed her cheek.

"I –" Elizabeth started. But she stopped. Peter wondered what she wanted to say. _I was scared to death. I wanted to stay close in case I had to break you free. I wanted to see you one last time before they took you away._ The truth was, she probably needed to feel as close to her husband as she could, even if she couldn't actually see him.

"I needed some company," El simply admitted finally, "and they let me stay here." El gestured toward the other people in the room.

Diana stepped forward. "We were instructed to stay away from your office," she said with an apologetic look. "And since Callaway's team didn't seem to appreciate our help on the case, we left them the bullpen and commandeered the conference room for ourselves."

Following her gaze, Peter noted all the papers, reports, scribbled notepads, and computers on the large table.

"Anyway, we're so happy to see you, Boss," Diana cheered. "How do you feel?"

"Relieved," Peter smiled at his agents.

Jones patted him on the back. "We dodged quite a bullet, huh?"

"We did…"

Peter turned toward Neal, and his smile faded away. His young friend was standing in front of him, slightly swaying on his feet. He seemed to be purposely staying a little aside from the group surrounding Peter.

He frowned and studied Neal closely. He didn't look right at all. He was chalk white, had a large bruise on his cheek, and lacerations on his right hand.

"Eh, buddy, what happened to you?"

Neal suddenly threw himself at Peter's neck. Peter felt him shaking against his body. Neal was falling apart, sobbing against Peter's shoulder. Peter gently rubbed Neal's back with his hands.

"Peter, I'm sorry! I ran after him. I tried to stop him. I really did. But he hit me. He disappeared. Peter, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

"Neal. You have no reason to be sorry," he whispered in his friend's ear.

Neal violently parted himself from the embrace. "Yes! It' all my fault! He's my dad!"

"Neal, sit down," Peter asked gently. Neal fell back into his chair.

Peter took a chair, and sat in front of his friend. He reached out for his hand.

"Neal, look at me. It's not your fault. None of it is. You're only responsible for your own actions, Neal, not for other's. You're not responsible for anything James, or I, did today."

Neal glanced sideway to the flat screen, making Peter turn around and see what was on. It was a frozen image from what seemed video footage. Peter felt a slight shiver run down his spine as he recognized the scene. He saw himself, facing James Bennett. They were holding each other at gun point. That was right before Bennett disappeared, leaving Peter with a smoking gun and a dead body.

Peter remembered Callaway's remark that there was no audio. He suddenly felt a little uncomfortable. "Neal, I din't…"

But Neal cut him off. "It's okay, Peter. We can't see what you are saying, but the body language is clear enough."

Peter smiled, as he rested a protective hand on his friend's shoulder. He let it lingered a second there. A comfort gesture meant as much for the young man as for himself – The reassurance that all the people he loved were still at reach. He was pleased to see a smile appear on Neal's face too.

There was a lot Peter wanted to ask Neal, a lot to talk about. But the office, with everyone around didn't seem the right place. Instead, he stuck to the essential. "Did you recover the box?"

Neal nodded. "We did."

Jones pointed a thumb toward the bullpen and the busy agents. "They're all working on it as we speak. Double checking the content, following leads, digging up all reports…"

That was good news. Peter nodded, pleased.

"And nobody tried to ditch it away?" he asked.

"Oh Callaway tried," Diana said, "but Neal made sure it would fall in the right hands first."

Peter turned to Neal, who gave him his pride smile. "I went to Bancroft."

Peter was incredulous. "Bancroft?!"

"Oh, actually, I went to see Reese, first. Hey, he likes me," Neal added as Peter raised an eyebrow.

"Anyway, I thought he would give me some credibility with Bancroft."

"Smartass," Peter said. "And how did you know you could trust him?"

"I read the content of the box first." A furtive shadow passed through Neal's gaze, quickly replaced by the usual mask smile as Neal went on with the story. "I told him everything. He wasn't pleased to learn about our off-the-book investigation and how much we kept from the Bureau. But the content of the box spoke for itself. And Reese had his own ammunitions. He spoke for you, too. For us. A good man Agent Hughes. Did you know the NSA was investigating Callaway?" Peter nodded. "The NSA!"

Everyone around Peter seemed really excited, even El was smiling as she was standing by his side, an arm around his waist.

"This is big, Boss," Diana said. "Heads are gonna fall."

The sweet feeling of accomplishment finally settled, just a little, slightly lifting the weight in Peter's chest. Maybe it wasn't a whole waste then.

"So, we did the right thing after all?" he said in a low voice.

"Mostly," someone answered from the door of the conference room.

Peter looked over his shoulder. It was Kyle Bancroft. Instinctively, Peter strengthened up.

"Agent Burke," the Assistant Director said as he entered the room.

"Sir." Peter wasn't sure what to expect from the "boss's boss" as they called him. He tried to read some signs – good or bad – in Bancroft's attitude, but the Senior Agent was his usual stern self.

Bancroft scrutinized Peter for a moment before speaking. "As your boss, I cannot encourage off-book investigations. It's the open door to anarchy in law enforcement."

"I understand, sir."

"And you should be careful, Peter, not to let yourself too vulnerable to criticisms from higher-ups."

Peter looked down.

"As your boss, I cannot approve your behavior," Bancroft went on. "But from one Special Agent to another, and absolutely off-record of course, I admire your courage."

Peter looked up. Bancroft was holding out his hand, a discreet smile on his lips. Peter took the hand and shook it wholeheartedly.

"Thank you, sir," he said, touched.

Bancroft took something out of his pocket and handed it to Peter. It was his badge. Peter took it and brushed a finger on the shield.

"Finish the job, Agent Burke. Take them down, and close the case."

"I will," Peter nodded.

"I have no doubt, Agent Burke, but not until tomorrow. Go home, Peter. Take some rest tonight." Bancroft looked at Neal, Diana and Jones. "All of you. Go home. You did good today."

In sync, they all nodded.

After he left, Peter wrapped his arm around El's shoulders. She leaned into his hold. Delicately, Peter moved a curl of hair away from her face. She looked up at him, smiling.

"Is there something on your mind, Hon?"

Peter chuckled. "Actually there's quite a lot. But I was wondering if you would mind, given how ruined our date night is already, if I invited a few friends? Just a quick Japanese take-away, maybe?"

Elisabeth gave Peter a quick and soft kiss. "Sure," she agreed, smiling.

Peter smiled back and turned to his partner. "Neal, could you call Mozzie? Tell him he's invited and to bring his pistachio ice-cream, which I hope he didn't throw away with his laundry."

_To be Continued…_


	2. Of Fathers and Friends

**A/N:Many thanks to all the followers, reviewers and favoriters !**

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**Part Two: Of fathers and friends.**

Neal rode with Peter and El in the Taurus, Diana and Jones following in Clinton's car. Jones would give Neal and Diana a ride home after the late dinner at the Burkes'.

The ride was mostly silent. From the back seat, Neal observed his friends. Elizabeth was driving, her right hand on the gear shift. Peter rested his own hand on El's, tangling delicately his fingers in hers.

El was discreetly checking on her husband, sending him side looks and smiling each time their eyes crossed. Peter turned toward the window, lost in his thoughts. He seemed preoccupied.

Neal heaved a sight. Peter could say whatever he wanted; Neal _knew_ it was all his fault. He was the one looking for his father, the one who reached out to him. And all it did was to bring pain, death and destruction. If it hadn't been for Neal, Peter would never have been after Pratt, never been victim of a sabotage of his car, never been accused of a murder committed by James. It was so obvious that Neal couldn't understand how Peter could not see it, how Peter and Elizabeth could still welcome him into their home.

Looking up, Neal caught Peter's gaze in the rear-view mirror. It was as warm as ever, but Neal couldn't bear it. He looked away, through the window, at passing-by cars, pedestrians. All those people living their happy lives, oblivious of his pain, his guilt, the mess of his life.

* * *

When they arrived, Neal did his best to make himself useful, going with the flow and keeping himself busy. As Elizabeth was ordering food and Clinton and Peter retrieving additional chairs from the basement, Neal followed Diana to the kitchen to grab glasses and plates and dress the table.

When this was done, Neal just stood there, and it took him a moment to realize Peter was standing right in front of him, hands on his hips, looking at him. Peter didn't seem angry or anything, but Neal was feeling more and more uncomfortable. Finally, Peter seemed to make his mind. Taking two beers from the fridge, he gestured Neal to follow him outside on the patio with a nod from the head.

"There, sit down," Peter said as he uncapped a bottle and put it into Neal's hands.

Peter sat on the other chair. He uncapped his own beer and took a sip of the fresh amber before setting it down on the garden table.

"So, tell me. What happened?" he asked with a neutral tone, pointing a finger to Neal's bruised face.

Neal brushed his cheek with his fingers and looked down at his hands.

"He-" he started but stopped, words struggling in his mouth, in his mind. Neal took a deep breath and went on. "I was with James when Diana called. We were… talking."

"About the box?" Peter asked tentatively.

Neal nodded but didn't elaborate. Peter didn't press further, which Neal was grateful of. He wanted Peter to know, but it wasn't easy to say the words. James was a murderer. James had conned him all along.

"Anyway," Neal continued, waving off his inner thoughts, "I asked him to testify for you but he refused. I begged him, Peter. I couldn't understand why he wouldn't testify."

Neal paused. There was a painful ball obstructing his throat. He had to swallow hard before he could continue.

"He threatened me," he said, and he could hear that his voice was unsteady. "My own father. He said someone had to take the fall… I was so shocked, and lost. I couldn't believe it!" Now he could feel the anger he had felt earlier rising again, burning his chest. "I ran after him, to the street. I yelled at him. I tried to stop him, and…" Neal's voice broke off. "He hit me," he finished in a murmur, pointing to his bruised cheek.

Neal was looking pensively at his hurt hand. "That was so violent… And unexpected. It took me off-balance. I fell on the concrete. That's how I hurt my hand. Hell of a fight, huh?"

Neal looked up and the intensity of Peter's look unsettled him a little. Looking at Neal straight in the eyes, frowning very slightly, Peter had that intense and dead serious look he showed when he was totally adsorbed, assessing a situation while listening to a witness or a case report – or trying to figure out if Neal's latest shenanigans were a good or a bad thing. But there was something more here. His look was softer. A little sad, too.

"By the time I got on my feet, he was gone," Neal said. What he didn't say concerned his frantic run in all the nearby streets, going circles, literally and figuratively; the useless screams to call back an already lost ghost. Neal didn't say either how he suddenly stopped, breathless and heartbroken, collapsed on the sidewalk and cried. Cried for the father he had lost once again and for the friend he was scared to death he would lose as well.

"But I still don't get it," Neal went on instead. "You said it was self-defense, right?"

"Yes, it was self-defense," Peter said softly. "Pratt was about to shoot. Maybe he was afraid his past would come back to haunt him?"

It was less and less bearable. It was burning in his chest. It had to come out, and it blurted out of Neal's mouth before he realized it.

"He did it, Peter! He really did it!"

"Did what?"

"Kill that cop! My father is a cop killer!"

There. It was said. He was the son of a murderer.

Suddenly, it occurred to Neal that he had been waiting that moment all day, the opportunity to share his burden, confide the painful truth to his friend, the one person in the world that might relieve him from that pain, just a little. Sure Mozzie had been sympathetic, and he was the first person Neal called. June had been wonderfully nice too, understanding without needing to ask. But Peter was different. Neal didn't know exactly why. Maybe because Peter's opinion of him has always mattered to Neal. Maybe because Peter was seeing him differently than most people.

An awkward silent settled.

Peter leaned forward across the table, putting his hand on Neal's forearm. Neal tensed. Part of him wanted to pull away. Peter wasn't the one supposed to comfort him, take care of him. That was a father's job. But the other part of Neal, the one that James' rejection had broken, longed for the comfort of that simple contact, and Neal didn't move.

"I'm sorry," Peter said.

Neal didn't say anything. There was nothing to be said.

Peter locked his intense and warm gaze into Neal's. "You deserved better."

"Nobody deserves a murderer as a father," Neal replied bitterly.

"True. But I know how much it meant to you, getting to know your father. And I wished it had turned out better."

"This is all my fault. It was such a waste. A complete disaster… You almost got killed, because of me. Ellen _was_ killed, because of me."

Neal cupped his face in his hands. He wanted to cry, he wanted to crawl down into a hole and disappear. But he heard Peter move his chair to come closer. He felt his grip on his arm, gentle but firm, forcing him to put his arms down.

"Neal, look at me."

But Neal couldn't.

"Neal, please, listen. None if this is your fault. You are not responsible for _anything_ your father did, 30 years ago, or today."

"Doesn't mean I don't _feel_ responsible…" Neal said in a low voice.

"I know."

Something in Peter's tone made Neal look up but he simply smiled and looked away. Peter took a sip of his beer before relaxing back in his chair.

"But you're wrong, it wasn't a complete waste. At least, we learned something really important," he said. Neal looked up, surprised. "You're nothing like your father," Peter continued, a fond smile on his lips.

Neal felt an uneasiness in his chest. The conversation with his father the day before came back to him. "He said he was the blue in my eyes… And I wanted to believe him."

"You do have his eyes," Peter admitted. "And there's something in his smile too, that reminded me of you. But that's only genetics, Neal. He is the blue in your eyes, but he is not who you are, and certainly not who you want to be."

Neal wanted to argue that it was more than genetics. That, just like him, James was a liar, a conman. A criminal. But Neal didn't say anything. Instead he let Peter talk.

"I know this is hard for you, because this is quite an adjustment to make. You always believed you wanted to be like your father and you were looking for the reassurance that it was who you were. You told me, once, that when you were a kid, you thought your dad was a hero."

Neal nodded. Yes, his father was a good cop then. A fallen hero – in Neal's mind at least. And all he wanted was to be like him…

"Later, you learned he was corrupt and you ran. Then, you told yourself you were like him because it was a convenient excuse to embrace a criminal life."

Neal opened his mouth to protest, but he had to admit there was some truth in Peter's words.

"But when Ellen told you your father might have killed a cop, your story didn't hold up anymore. You believed him when he said he had been framed because you wanted your father to be like you. Because the truth is, now you're a grown man, and you already know who you are. And you're not a killer. Things your father did, you wouldn't have done. I'm sure deep down you know it, you just didn't want to see it. I know you, and I _know_ you're not that kind of guy. _You_ know you're not that kind of guy. You're better than James, Neal. You're a good person."

Neal gave Peter an embarrassed smile and looked down. Peter had his own ways to show his appreciation of people, but he rarely expressed them in words. When he did, though, it was always coming right from the heart. And this sincerity was always a little unsettling for Neal.

The young man wasn't himself totally convinced he was such a good person, but he knew Peter meant every word, and actually believed them. Maybe that was the reason why Neal had never been able to really lie to Peter, had never been able to decide himself to run away. Peter was holding him back with the most powerful and traitorous of all weapons: his faith. That was something Neal didn't want to break. Peter liked him, he had said. And Neal knew it wasn't just for his skills and good looks. Peter believed in him. The first person, since Ellen probably, and that was a comforting feeling that Neal couldn't resign himself to let go.

"You remember, last year?" Peter asked.

So much for the comforting talk, Neal thought. There was no anger in Peter's voice, yet Neal couldn't help feeling defensive. Yes, he remembered, how could he ever forget?!

"Please, not the treasure again, Peter," he snapped. "I'm really not in the mood for yet another lecture."

He looked at his friend with a defying look, but Peter raised a hand in sign of peace.

"This isn't a lecture, Neal," he sighted. He paused, looking for the right way to say what was on his mind. "Just, listen. Last year, you kept that treasure, and you hid it until all went to hell and Keller kidnapped El."

If it wasn't going to be a lecture, Neal didn't know where this could go.

"You could have run," Peter went on. "Right there. But you didn't. Because that's not who you are. You have hurt people, but you wanted to fix it. You did not run. Instead..." Peter's voice shook a little. "Instead, you stayed by my side. Instead, you took responsibility for your own actions and you even offered a full confession."

"You're nothing like him, Neal," Peter concluded with fierce.

Neal didn't know what to say. It seemed all so obvious said like that, and yet... Was he really that good person Peter wanted him to be?

"You know," he said after a while, "I thought about running today."

Peter frowned. "Really?"

"Wouldn't your life be easier without me?"

Peter relaxed and shook his head. Neal wasn't sure if he was detecting disbelief or amusement, though there was nothing funny.

"Maybe, maybe not. Maybe I would have chosen another CI and he would drive me crazy – crazier! But it doesn't matter, Neal. What matters is that you're my friend now. I don't want you to go away… Plus, if you run, I'd have to go after you and _that_ wouldn't make my life easier. And of course, I'd catch you again, so we would still be stuck together."

Neal looked up at his partner, who was watching him, smiling. This time, Neal hold his gaze, and smiled back.

"So, you would still do it all over again?" he asked.

Peter grinned. "Well, about that. I've been thinking… Maybe I could have done without El being kidnapped, the car accident and the perp walk, today."

Neal chuckled. There were a few things he wished had been different too. He wasn't so sure he would do it again. Not for Kate. Not for Ellen. But then, that's not how life works anyway. You cannot change the past. You can only look after the future. And if his future was in New York City, with his new family, it wasn't that bad.

The silence that settled this time was much more comfortable. They clanged their bottles together and drank the last swallow in chorus before sitting back in their chairs, taking in each other's presence by their side, after the fear of being taken apart.

Neal was a little more at peace with himself. He wasn't sure if he was as good a person as Peter said, but for sure, he'll do his best. Peter was worth the try.

His father was gone, but Neal didn't really need one, after all since he had all the family he needed right here. He glanced at his friend, who was looking at an invisible point in front on him while absentmindedly fidgeting with the neck of his empty bottle. Peter looked significantly better than when Neal saw him earlier, through the one-way mirror of Interrogation – Neal had been assigned to "conference room arrest" but he needed to check on Peter and had sneaked out unseen while everyone was busy elsewhere. There, through Peter's mask of impassibility, Neal had seen the cracks, the questions, the fear. Now, Peter looked much more relaxed, yet Neal detected a certain stiffness in his attitude. Peter Burke, usually so confident and straightforward, was showing an uncharacteristic brittleness. It was slight, and it disappeared when Peter had his mind focused on Neal. But now that his mind was wandering on its own, Neal could see it again.

"So, what about you, Peter?" he asked softly.

Peter startled slightly, and looked at Neal, surprised. "What about me?"

"How do you feel?"

Peter swallowed but shrugged off whatever was on his mind.

"I'm fine."

Neal couldn't help a small chuckle. Peter was as good as him at admitting his feelings.

"Don't even try, Peter. It's me, I know you. I can see you're not fine."

Peter sighed and passed a nervous hand in his hair.

"I don't know… It's just that… I feel like there is a weight in there." He pressed a hand on his chest. "Like guilt, you know. But… I don't know…"

"Well, you had a tough day today. I guess it's normal," Neal said, comforting.

"Yeah… I guess." Peter didn't seem convinced.

Neal had been there before, of course. The arrest. The cuffs. The coldness of law enforcement officers, doing their job and not seeing they're wrecking up your entire life. The interrogation – Neal smiled inwardly remembering his first confrontation with a certain Special Agent Peter Burke. Not knowing what was going to happen. The perspective of prison. The loneliness…

Of course, Neal was prepared for it. When you commit a crime, you know there's a risk of being caught. You do your best to ignore it, you learn to live with it. So, when it happens, somehow, it is expected. It doesn't make it less painful, but at least, you know why this is happening to you. But Peter hadn't committed the crime. Peter was actually doing his job. So Neal could perfectly understand how unexpected and disturbing the experience had to have been for his friend, a man who breathed law and order.

"Not so much fun to be on the wrong side of the table, huh?" Neal asked, trying to keep his tone casual.

A small smile appeared on Peter lips as he shook his head. "Damn, no."

Neal felt there was more. Something Peter wouldn't tell. "But?" he pushed gently.

Peter met Neal's gaze before looking away. After a moment, he heaved a sight and turned back his attention to Neal.

"I feel… lost. I'm not sure I'm still on the right path anymore."

Neal frowned. He wasn't sure exactly what it was, but something had clearly shaken Peter more than he thought. "Why that?" he asked softy.

"I always thought that doing what I believed was right would keep me on the right path. You know, you do what's right…"

"…And let the pieces fall where they fall," Neal nodded. "You were doing the right thing, Peter."

"But I almost lost everything, Neal. This was not right. I thought that by going outside the System – just a little – we would restore it. I wasn't going against it, I was working for it. And yet…"

"But you didn't lose everything, Peter. You're cleared."

Peter smirked. "The only reason I was cleared was because Mozzie is paranoid."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"Yes. No, I mean, I'm grateful of Mozzie, really. I owe him a big one. But… That's not the way it's supposed to be. Mozzie… Mozzie is a criminal…"

"And that makes you uncomfortable."

"Not per se. Well, in a way, maybe. It's just that, I'm not supposed to be friends with a criminal like Mozzie."

"But Mozzie isn't just a criminal, Peter. He is your friend too – in his own way."

Peter sighed. "I know, Neal. I know. It's not about Mozzie. I'm just wondering how I became so reliant on criminals... Look at me! Without Mozzie, I would have been sent to prison, for murder. Without that video, there was no proof I didn't commit that crime. The only reason I'm home and free tonight is because a criminal helped me. A criminal that isn't even in the System…"

"Oh…" Neal was starting to understand where Peter was headed. "You're thinking the System failed you."

Peter shrugged, uncomfortable and lowered his head.

Neal leaned forward to catch Peter's gaze. "You don't know that. First off, we've been spending the whole day on finding a way to clear you. Diana, Jones and me. We would have found something. We would have find James if that was the last option. And people aren't thrown to prison without a jury. _That_ is the system. You just didn't give it enough time to prove itself."

Peter narrowed his eyes. His brows were furrowed and his jaw clenched. Neal could almost see the spinning wheels of his thoughts.

"Or maybe it's the other way round. Maybe I failed the System…" he whispered. "So many people have warned me this past year. I wouldn't recognize myself. I would get myself too deep in troubles… Reese told me this morning that sometimes we have to redraw the lines. I believed it, this morning. I'm not so sure anymore. Isn't that precisely the dangerous path I shouldn't get down?"

"Peter, the System isn't a machine, it is made of people. They are humans, they are fallible. If you want it to work, you need to make it work. It's people like you who make the System work. You have to keep faith in the System. The System needs you."

Peter made an embarrassed pout.

Something suddenly crossed Neal's mind. "You know," he said with a slight grin, "I think it all goes back to that moment when you did the right thing by accepting Mozzie into your life."

Peter raised an eyebrow, visibly skeptical. "It's not like I seemed to have a choice. He seemed to be part of that 'Caffrey package'…"

Neal's grin widened. "Actually, I think you had. Well, or at least you could have pretended to. But you never asked me to stay away from him. Which you could have, as my handler."

Peter smiled. "Damn, and I didn't think about it…"

"My point is, this is probably where you made the right decision, accepting Mozzie as your… unconventional ally?"

"Really?"

"Look," Neal went on, "I know Mozzie and I, we may have complicated your life a little. Maybe we have pushed you too much into the grey lines. But sometimes this is the only way."

Peter looked away. "Maybe."

"You think the investigation on Pratt would have been more successful on record?" Neal asked gently.

Peter shrugged, still looking away – at the Rai stone, Neal noted. "Probably not. I guess you're right."

"Peter," Neal called. "I know you don't like it, because in our territory, you are more vulnerable, and I understand, this is not the way it's supposed to work. But sometimes you have to step out of the System to defend it. That's why you have CIs, after all."

Peter looked back at Neal and smiled fondly.

"But you need allies in this off-record world. This is why we are here. We have your back, you know that, right?"

Peter leaned back on his chair.

"Yes, I know that."

"And you and I, we're here to catch the bad guys. It's our job to set things right, remember?"

Peter's smile widened. "You're right."

"We took some risks, investigating Pratt, but that was the right thing to do because it's gonna pay off. There are a lot of things in Ellen's box. Tomorrow, we'll continue the investigation, and we'll take all those dirty people down."

Peter nodded. "Set things right," he said, and Neal caught sparkles in his eyes.

The doorbell rang. Given the particular rhythm, it had to be Mozzie.

"My unexpected friend", Peter said, feeling cheered. "I hope he brought that Pistachio ice-cream! Time's up, let's get back inside with everybody."

They stood up in choir and Neal noticed Peter looked more relaxed, more assured. He would be fine eventually. And Neal would, too. He put a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Peter."

Their gaze met. Peter's was warm and grateful. Neal knew it was an exact match to his.

"It was good talking to you too, Neal."

_To Be Continued..._


	3. The Right Thing to Do

**Once again, many thanks to all of you who read the story !**

* * *

**Part Three: The Right Thing to Do**

Peter hung up the phone. He had been talking all morning with his friend Walt from DC, to synch with the investigation starting over there. Most of the original files Ellen had made copies of were in the DC archives. Digging them up, from a time prior to the digital era, would be pretty tedious. Making sure to keep them from ill-intended hands would be a challenge too. But if they did their job properly "heads were gonna fall" as Diana had said.

Peter didn't get Pratt, but he had enough to arrest two members of his close staff who had followed their captain into Politics. The Senator from Illinois was going to take a fall too, and a few retired cops. Walt would build a discreet team of Agents of trust to investigate if the corrupted ring of dirty cops was still ongoing.

Callaway had been put on administrative leave while her implication in the whole affair was assessed. Bancroft would stay to supervise the "Box case" until it was closed.

They had a lead on James Bennett. A man matching his description had been sighted at a New Jersey bus station.

Neal had seemed tired this morning, but his smile was genuine enough to tell Peter he would be fine.

All this was pretty satisfying.

Except that this impression of guilt weighting on Peter's chest was still there. He had been rethinking about his conversation with Neal a good part of the night. His friend's words had reassured him he had been doing the right thing and Peter felt confident that in the end, that investigation would be a nice success for his team.

Peter rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index. His gaze lingered around his desk and stopped at the old photo of him and El. Peter loved Elizabeth's bright smile on this picture. She looked so happy and carefree. She hadn't been smiling like that in a while.

Of course.

Peter tried to remember El's schedule for today. She said she would be working from home. That was perfect. Peter stood up and grabbed his jacket.

He knew what he had to do.

* * *

When he arrived home, El was seated at her little desk in the kitchen, by the window. One leg folded under her, her head rested on her hand, she was looking outside. The morning sun was illuminating her face with his soft light, casting warm colors in her hair. At first Peter thought she was absorbed in her thoughts, but as he approached, he realized she was watching at something in the garden. Looking from behind El, he saw two little birds dancing around, flying from one branch to another, rubbing their heads together, and taking off again to another tree. A peaceful smile was enlightening El's look. She was so adsorbed she hadn't hear him.

"Eh Hon," Peter said as softly as possible.

El startled, and turned around, surprised and delighted to see him. But her smile faded away, which made Peter's heart miss a beat.

"Hi, Honey. Something's wrong?"

"No, no, no." Peter pressed as he took her close, wrapping his arm around her.

Intrigued, El titled her head, and plunged her eyes in his, trying to read his mind.

Now that he was here, Peter wasn't sure where to start.

"El, I'm sorry." She frowned, confused. "I've been a terrible husband lately." Now, El raised an eyebrow.

Peter sighted. This was going nowhere. Images of El, vaguely pouting after Hughes's visit before the car accident, trying to hide her worries and tears, at the hospital, and against yesterday, were circling in his mind. He wanted to erase them, erase the fears and the tears, make it up for Elizabeth, bring back her wonderful smile, the sparkles in her eyes, the laugh in her voice. He'd been missing those so much, and he'd been a fool not to realize it.

He took his beloved wife by the hand and led her to the sofa, where they sat face to face. Peter cleared his throat as well as his mind. He took Elizabeth's hands in his.

"I've been too consumed in the whole Pratt/Bennett thing," he said, "and it'd blinded me. You were worried, and I ignore it. I didn't want to see it, because I didn't want to back off. You warned me, and I didn't listen, and I was wrong."

El squeezed his hands and brushed her thumb on his palms.

"It's okay, Peter," she said. "I know you had this case at heart."

"No, it's not okay. I see it in your eyes, Hon. You're worried."

El blinked, as if trying to hide her eyes from his piercing gaze.

"You're an FBI Agent, Peter, it comes with the job. Of course I worry about you. That's also who you are. You're passionate about your job, and that's also something I love about you."

Peter smiled. He really didn't deserve such a wonderful wife. And such a wonderful wife really didn't deserve all he had put her through lately. He pulled her in his arm and caressed her cheek before putting a kiss on her forehead.

"I don't want to be this kind of guy, too preoccupied by his job to look after his wife. You shouldn't have to hide your fears, and I should not ignore them. I always talk about doing the right thing and all, but the first and most important thing to do should be to take care of you." He cupped a hand around her chin to make her look at him. "I'm sorry, Honey."

Tears were appearing at the corners of El's eyes. She buried her head into his chest.

"I just don't want to lose you, Peter."

Peter continued to caress El's cheek. "And I don't want to lose you. So I'm going to make it up to you, El."

She pushed herself up to look at him, and tilted her head. Her eyes were sparkling tenderly. "Oh really?"

"I'm serious, Hon. I feel horribly guilty over it all."

Elizabeth kissed him tenderly on the lips. "So, what are your plans to get back into my good graces?" She asked.

"I was thinking about calling the Rusty Egret and see if they still had a room?"

"Hmmm. Good idea. We'll just make sure not to stop anywhere before we get there this time."

Peter grinned. "I doubt we'll fall again on the wannabee Bonnie and Clyde."

"I think we've already burned all our chances to get kidnapped for a lifetime…" Elizabeth agreed. "So, when do you want to go?"

"Hmm… In about an hour? Packing shouldn't take that long since you know where we're going this time."

"An hour – Oh you meant to leave today? But what about your case?"

Peter gently took El's head in his hands. "Case can wait." El's mouth dropped open. "I'll handle it to Jones and Diana. I'm sure the Bureau can survive without me for a couple of days."

El threw her arms around his neck, a wide smile on her face – that smile that meant so much to Peter he would do anything for it. "I love you, Honey," she whispered.

"I love you too," he answered tenderly.

Elizabeth had literally lightened up. She stood up from the sofa, and picked up her phone. "I'm calling Yvonne. Burke Premiere will have to survive without me," she cheered happily. She was smiling from ear to ear, and looked more happy and relaxed that Peter had seen her for days.

El hanged up and was heading upstairs. "So, one hour?"

Peter grinned. "Yes, one hour. On your mark, go!"

Peter took his own phone to call the Office, before calling the Rusty Egret. He was just as happy as El, his mind and heart finally at peace. He felt light. The weight in his chest was gone. This was the right thing to do.

The End.


End file.
